


We Have Come Through

by BrighteyedJill



Series: We Have Come Through (Black Jewels/MCU Crossover) [1]
Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Good archery skills, Natasha Needs a Hug, Or Craft Bros I suppose, Protective Steve Rogers, Sassy Assassins, Science Bros, past dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surreal SaDiablo has been tasked with finding out about a reported problem in a Terreillean court led by a certain Black Widow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Have Come Through

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akabit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akabit/gifts).



> A million thanks to Morbane for beta heavy lifting and assistance with the Black Jewels universe.
> 
> And Akabit, thank you for the very inspiring prompts!
> 
> Three content advisory notes: one mention of implied past dub-con (in line with the usual Black Jewels universe events), a brief discussion of previous sex work, and a mention of arguably non-consensual sterilization (Age of Ulton style).

Surreal dropped from the Green wind, wary and alert as she always felt when visiting Terreille. From the landing web, the place looked inviting enough: a carefully manicured expanse of emerald lawn running all the way to the foot of an imposing tower of the building that must be the Queen’s residence. There were no guards that she could see, but also no one to greet her. 

That wasn’t such a surprise, considering that she’d decided to show up unannounced, but she’d thought that the home of a Territory Queen would at least have a token amount of security. Even though Terreillean politics weren’t the viper’s nest they’d been before the witchstorm, Queens were still vulnerable to more mundane threats. Perhaps the Court was saving on wages by only posting guards closer to the house: certainly resources were scarce in many of the Territories now. Or perhaps there was some larger problem afoot, and that’s why the Queen here had written to Jaenelle in the first place.

Readying herself for the unknown, Surreal stepped off the landing web and immediately jumped back as a blue thread of light flared across the border of the grass and then zig-zagged off across the lawn, shooting in straight lines between clear Jewel chips that seemed to be embedded in the ground. 

*Hello. You must be Lady Surreal.*

The psychic thread felt vaguely male, but had a strange inhuman tone that reminded her of speaking with the Kindred. *Who’s asking?*

*I am Jarvis, the estate’s butler. You weren’t expected until tomorrow, but I’m sure we can find a way to accommodate the change in schedule. You must be tired after your long journey.*

Surreal scanned the open ground around her, looking for movement. She didn’t see anyone watching her or any place someone could be concealed with a weapon. *I didn’t tell anyone I was coming.*

*It may be best to come to the sparring grounds. Some of the Court will be there to receive you.*

The clear chips that spread across the lawn lit up in a pulsing pattern of rose light, presumably leading the way towards the sparring grounds. “Not your typical welcome,” she muttered under her breath. Still alert for hidden threats, Surreal set off following the path.

Some distance from the tower itself, a clear patch of dirt delineated by a low wall marked her destination. Wooden targets had been set out at one end of the narrow rectangle, and two figures stood at the firing line: an Eyrien man with his wings stretched out in the afternoon sunlight, and a shorter, redheaded woman wearing tight-fitting leathers.

Surreal approached from behind, well out of the line of fire. Now she could see that the Eyrien man held a large, powerful bow, and was pulling arrows from the quiver at his side with impressive speed to send them thrumming towards the distant targets. The woman stood at a distance, eyes fixed on the targets rather than the man.

“Hello,” Surreal called. An arrow thudded into the target, but no one looked at her. She raised an eyebrow, considering the consequences of leaving an assassin unwatched at one's back. “Don't let me interrupt. I'm just looking for the Queen.”

The Eyrien loosed another arrow that hit neatly between two already stuck in a target, showing a mastery of aim even Lucivar would have admired. After the arrow hit, he lowered his bow and turned to focus on Surreal. He looked her over her quickly, the way a guardsman assessed a threat rather than the way a man assessed a woman, then glanced to the witch behind him.

The redhead, whose face tugged at something in Surreal’s memory, held a finely wrought pair of throwing knives, one of which she kept tucked against her wrist in a perfect position to blindside an enemy. “The Queen is supposed to be resting now.” The witch tossed a knife and caught it deftly. “We thought you’d be here tomorrow, Lady Surreal.”

Surreal opened her mouth to point out for a second time that she hadn’t told anyone she was coming, then caught sight of the hourglass pendant hanging above a Red Jewel on the woman’s necklace, and re-thought her position. “My plans changed.”

“Well, someone should tell the Steward,” the witch said with a pointed look at the Eyrien man.

“Of course.” With a wry smile he unstrung his bow and passed it to the witch. “I trust you’ll take care of that for me.” His arrogance rubbed Surreal the wrong way: the woman was a Black Widow, not a servant. Still, his nod to Surreal was perfectly polite. “This way, Lady Surreal.”

She followed him to the tower, and he seemed gratifyingly displeased at her decision to walk behind him rather than beside him on the wide pathway. Before they’d reached the building, another figure came hurrying down the path. This man wore neat clothes and a close-fitting jacket that crossed over his chest like armor. He was of a height with the Eyrien man, but despite the lack of wings, he seemed larger, imposing in a way the Eyrien Warlord was not. Warlord Prince, she realized, when he moved close enough for her to get a taste of his psychic scent.

“Steve?” The Eyrien stopped on the path and swept a hand towards Surreal. “This is Lady Surreal SaDiablo, visiting from Ebon Askavi. Is the Steward here?”

“He’s… uh… indisposed. I believe he and Maria went into the village for… Well, he didn’t say. Lady Surreal.” He bowed to Surreal in a perfect demonstration of Protocol. “I’m the First Escort here. Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll be happy to stay with you until the Steward returns.”

“It’s fine. I’m not hard to entertain.” She looked the Warlord Prince up and down, noting the amazing physique. Such a build didn't necessarily mean he was a warrior; she'd seen pretty arm-candy boys in many Courts who looked strong but wilted at the first sign of a battle. On the other hand, she'd seen skinny, harmless-looking men jump into a fight and end it easily. When she met the Warlord Prince's eyes again, she didn’t miss the way his face set into a frozen smile.

The Eyrien raised an eyebrow, and Steve shot him a glare. Surreal imagined they must be sharing some choice commentary on a spear thread. At last, Steve marshaled his manners and gave Surreal another bow. “Perhaps you’d like a tour, while you wait?”

He led her through an impressively large entryway, where she noticed more clear Jewel chips embedded in the stones. They flashed blue for a moment as they passed, so quickly she almost doubted she’d seen it.

The tower itself had the oppressive feel of a building that had stood for centuries; it reminded Surreal of the Keep. At the top of a narrow staircase, Steve tapped a glass ball that blazed to life with witchfire, then sent a spark to the next lantern in the row, until the whole stairwell glowed cheerily.

“Haven’t seen that bit of Craft before,” Surreal said. For all that she was constantly surrounded by the darkest-Jeweled people in the Realms, their interests tended more towards the spectacular than the practical. “You seem to have a few interesting set-ups here.”

“I heard you met Jarvis already.” Steve politely hid a smile behind his hand as Surreal grimaced. “Well, Tony’s got a talent for tinkering with Craft. Since the witchstorm, weapons haven’t been the priority.” He stopped to push open the thick wooden door at the bottom of the stairs. “This is the workshop.”

Inside the cavernous room, long tables laden with piles of mysterious equipment alternated with large open spaces. In one spot, the gray stone of the floor had been scoured white, as if by an explosion.

“It’s going to keep draining quicker than the rest until you can balance the forces.”

“We need some kind of a reflective surface.” A dark-haired Prince, presumably the aforementioned Tony, held an uncut Red Jewel in his hand, dull and drained. Beside him, a Warlord Prince with a Green Jewel on a chain around his neck bent over a metal apparatus on the table, squinting. “That would—”

“Tony? Bruce?” Steve called from the doorway. “We have a visitor.”

Both of the men straightened up immediately, tensed in defensive postures. Tony looked Surreal over, eyes catching on the fashionable dress whose sleek lines covered thin armor, the Gray Jewel on her necklace, the way she planted her feet as if ready for an attack. She saw the moment he marked her as a threat: when he dropped into an aggressive fighting stance and called in an Opal ring. Tony gestured curtly, and the Warlord Prince beside him stepped back, lengthening the distance between himself and Surreal. The room chilled, and Surreal felt dark energies descending: a Warlord Prince stepping to the killing edge.

Surreal called in her sight-shielded stilettos and readied herself for a fight. She wasn’t sure what had set off this attack, or what she was facing, but if this whole visit had been a trap, this Court was in for an unpleasant lesson.

Steve stepped neatly in front of Surreal and held up his hand with its bright Sapphire ring, but not towards Surreal; his eyes were fixed on Tony. “Prince, this Lady is a guest of the Court, a messenger from Ebon Askavi. She is here at the Queen’s request. We must attend.” Words of Protocol, a reminder of the leash of honor that bound members of a Court. He stood directly in the path of any attack Tony might make, but also in the way of Surreal’s counterattack. When Surreal shifted for a better line of sight, Steve shot her a pained glance and shifted with her, making himself a shield. “Tony, please.”

“Nat’s seen her?” Tony narrowed his eyes at Surreal over Steve’s shoulder. Behind him, the Warlord Prince was turned away, hunched over as if in pain. Surreal could feel the cold darkness of a descending power, but couldn’t tell which of the men was the source.

“Yes. She’s the Queen’s guest, under the Queen’s protection.” Steve took a slow step forward, still blocking Surreal, but lowering his ring, removing the clear threat. Surreal noticed the way he kept his arms spread, making himself an unavoidable target if the others did attack. “She is not to be harmed.”

Tony drew in a deep breath and lowered the hand with the ring, which had been raised like a weapon. “Fine.” Without looking away from Surreal, he stepped back until his hand settled against the arm of the Warlord Prince, still turned away and huddled in on himself. 

Surreal could feel the gathered darkness fading as the Warlord Prince slipped back from the killing edge. 

Steve kept himself between Surreal and the other two men while he approached the table. “Bruce?”

“Fine,” said the Warlord Prince. His left hand covered his necklace, which was still glowing with Green power. Green light leaked through his fingers, painting his face with an eerie glow. With his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched, he seemed to be breathing hard. “I’m fine.”

“Right. Sorry.” Steve backed up, keeping his movements slow and cautious.

“I’ll take care of him, Prince.” Tony crowded against Bruce and threw a glare back at Steve.

“Lady Surreal, if you don’t mind.” Steve opened the door for her, which normally would have earned him a sharp word or two if not a knife in the gut, but on this occasion, she didn’t mind having him between her and the other two men as they beat a strategic retreat.

“I apologize,” Steve said, once they’d made it upstairs and back into the sunlit courtyard. “I should have thought—We don’t get many visitors out this way.”

Surreal let herself breathe for a moment, reining in the adrenaline that pounded through her blood after proximity to so many flaring male tempers. Her observations of this place arranged themselves into familiar patterns in her head. “You served in Terreillean Courts,” she said. “Before the witchstorm.”

“Yes.” Steve clasped his hands behind his back and rounded his shoulders, as if he could make himself small, make her forget that he was clearly a skilled warrior.

“The others in the Court?” she asked.

“They did, too. This place has been in Tony’s family for generations. That’s why it’s not as ravaged as other Territorial seats in Terreille.” Steve stopped beside the path to sink down on a metal bench.

Surreal sat with him, leaving a healthy distance between them. From this vantage point, she could see the countryside stretching out in a gentle slope, with a village clustered around the outer walls of the estate. It did, in fact, look a damn sight more prosperous than other places in Terreille, where the taint had gone much deeper. “But it was taken over eventually,” she guessed.

Steve nodded. “They were able to hold out for a long time. Until Tony’s parents… Well, I imagine you’ve heard the same story other places.”

“I have.” Surreal had no trouble imagining the details. “So Tony’s been here for years, but the rest of you didn’t serve here, before.”

“No, Lady. We served… elsewhere.” Steve had his hands planted on his knees now, and his eyes fixed on the ground.

“And you—“ She put together what she knew so far, and came to an unpleasant conclusion. “What is it you thought I meant, earlier? When I said I was easily entertained?”

“Part of the First Escort’s duty is to satisfy the needs of visitors, Lady,” he said with perfect politeness. He still didn’t look up.

“In general, yes.” She wouldn’t have teased him if she’d realized how raw the hurts still were of the men in this Queen’s First Circle. She should have remembered how few Terreillean males had come out of the past few decades without terrible scars. “I won’t be needing that kind of accommodation on this trip, Prince. You can share word of that with the rest of the Court, if that would make the others more comfortable.”

“Yes, Lady.” Steve looked up, examining her face as if looking for a lie, before he finally nodded and pushed to his feet. “Is there anything else you’d like to see?”

“Steve.” The Eyrien man strode up the path from the tower. He stopped before them and performed the barest sketch of a bow. “Lady Surreal. The Queen’s in her parlor. She said she’s ready to receive her guest, now.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Steve said. He gave her the bow Protocol prescribed, Warlord Prince to witch, Sapphire Jewel to Gray, and a genuinely bright smile.

The Eyrien man, who still hadn’t introduced himself, led her through the soaring corridors of the tower to a sunny parlor, where the redheaded witch from the sparring grounds, now wearing a formal dress, sat on a couch next to a table overflowing with cakes, pastries, and tea things. She stood up to greet Surreal with a kiss on the cheek. “Lady Surreal. I’m Natasha Romanoff.”

“Of course you are,” Surreal said with a chuckle. She couldn’t even be angry at the tacit deception.

“Thank you, Clint,” Natasha said. “That’ll be all.”

“Will it?” The Eyrien looked between Natasha and Surreal.

“I can take care of myself,” Natasha said firmly.

Clint gave Surreal one last long look. “I’ll be right outside.” He retreated and closed the door behind him.

“It’s nothing personal,” Natasha said, resuming her seat on the couch. “They’re not used to strangers.”

“So I gathered.” As she sat down next to Natasha, Surreal made a mental note not to go wandering around the grounds unescorted, lest she run afoul of any more overprotective males. It wasn’t that she feared for her own safety; she’d just rather not have to explain any unpleasant incidents when she reported back to Jaenelle.

“I should also apologize for the delay.” Natasha picked up the teapot and poured two large, steaming cups of something that smelled spicy and delicious. “It takes me a while to get myself presentable for Queen mode on a normal day.”

“And you wanted to give me the tour,” Surreal guessed.

“I thought it would be helpful for you to the meet the Court here.” Natasha watched Surreal out of the corner of her eye while she spooned a lump of sugar into her cup, a look a less skilled observer might not have noticed. “See what you think of them.”

“And what they think of me.”

Natasha inclined her head. “To tell you the truth, I was relieved to find out the Queen of Ebon Askavi was sending you. I doubt you’d be shocked by any of the unconventional arrangements of my Court.”

“They don’t seem all that odd.” Surreal considered what she’d seen so far. “Then again, my basis for comparison is probably a bit skewed.”

“Well.” Natasha settled back on the couch with her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. “There are those in the Territory who aren’t pleased with a Queen who’s worked in a Red Moon House.”

“Chaillot.” The memory of Natasha’s face slotted into place in Surreal’s mind: a serious girl, only just old enough for the game, who faded into the shadows. “That’s where I’ve seen you before.”

“Yes.” Natasha’s mouth curled into a smile, as if she was pleased to be remembered. “I was younger.”

“But…” Surreal ran the memories over in her mind, looking for a way to connect them to the woman who sat before her. “You’re a Queen. Deje never said… We would have _noticed_.”

“It was dangerous to be a Queen, then. I’ve always been good at letting people see what they want to see.” Natasha took a sip of her tea and looked out the window at the sun-drenched grounds.

Surreal could immediately think of a dozen uses for the ability to conceal your caste. Perhaps with some sort of Black Widow’s craft? Seeing Natasha’s closed-off expression, she decided the mechanics were something to discuss another time. “Well, at least now you’re able to be who you are. Fat lot of good may it do you, if it attracts a Court like yours.” Surreal smiled to soften the joke, and some of the haunted look left Natasha’s face. Surreal picked up her cup of tea. “So, Jaenelle seemed to think you’d know why she sent me.”

“Yes. There’s a problem.” Natasha’s hands tightened on her cup, but she looked Surreal in the eyes. “The land isn’t thriving.”

“There’s a problem with the land?”

“No, there’s a problem with me.” Natasha’s cup began to rattle in its saucer as her hands shook. Quickly, she set aside her cup and folded her hands in her lap. “When I was young, I served under a Black Widow with a very specific vision for her apprentices. Before we went off into the world, she demanded that we show our commitment by submitting to a spell of hers, developed by the coven.”

“What did the spell do?”

“It took away the ability to give life the way a Queen should. When I give the Queen’s offering to the land, it has no effect.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m barren.”

Surreal had seen Dorothea SaDiablo and her puppets ravage the land and its people in many different ways over the years, but this was one method she had neither heard of nor imagined. “Why would anyone do that?”

“To prevent us from earning loyalty elsewhere,” Natasha explained. “If we were incapable of being proper Queens, she thought no Court would want us, and she could retain our allegiance.”

“Your Court seems content with you.” Surreal thought of Daemon, of Lucivar, yearning for a Queen they could respect for all those years, and shuddered at the idea of someone purposely destroying the potential of young witches that way. “So apparently she was wrong.”

“She died in the witchstorm last year.” Natasha pushed off the couch and went to stand by the window. “That doesn’t change the fact that I can’t give this Territory what it needs. I wrote to the Queen of Ebon Askavi to request a new Queen.”

Surreal frowned. “Do the members of your Court want another Queen?”

“I haven’t discussed my request with them.” Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, but kept her back to Surreal.

“Listen, sugar.” Surreal unfolded from the couch and went to stand next to Natasha. “I’ve seen other places in Terreille that aren’t recovering half so well as this. You have Warlord Princes serving in your Court: Dark-Jeweled Warlord Princes who still have their sanity and the will to serve are a rare sight. They respect you, and they trust you. A new Queen wouldn’t have that.”

“They’d serve, for the good of the district, if they had to.” Natasha sounded grimly certain of that, and from what Surreal had seen from the First Escort and the others, she believed it. Still, the Blood needed more than duty to thrive.

“That’s not how service works. They wouldn’t serve another Queen the same way,” Surreal pointed out. “They’re yours, aren’t they?

“Yes,” Natasha said quietly. Then she shook her head and turned to Surreal. “A Queen doesn’t just rule the people. She serves the land. If I can’t do that, I can’t rule.”

“Listen, I’m not a Queen, so I can’t say for certain that what you’re doing here is wrong or right.” Surreal saw the determined stoicism in Natasha’s answering nod, and had to go on. “But let me tell you, as someone who’s seen a great many awful rulers as well as some exceptionally effective ones, I can say that nothing you’re doing here is hurting your court or your people.” 

At that, Natasha looked down, and Surreal though she saw her relax a fraction.

“In any case, I’m really just a messenger.” Surreal walked back to her couch, threw herself down on the cushions, and retrieved her cooling cup of tea. “I’ll convey your request to the Queen of Ebon Askavi, and she’ll make the final decision.”

“Thank you.” Natasha plopped down next to her, and this time when she picked up her cup, her hands were perfectly steady. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “I hope you’ll stay the night. There was talk earlier of a knife-throwing contest.”  
\--

_To the Queen, Natasha Romanoff,_

_In response to your request, please accept the aid of this young Queen, who comes with her brother as an escort. They will benefit from serving in your court by studying Protocol in a practical setting. In addition, they have much to learn from your example in how to deal effectively with strong males. In return, Wanda will be able to offer the Queen’s gift each spring so that the land you rule so well may thrive._

_Also, Surreal asks that your cook send over the recipe for something called shwarma._

_Fondly yours,  
Jaenelle Angelline_


End file.
